Bros Before Bros
by Jaxson The Great
Summary: Dave explores the hidden joys of ironic self-loathing.


It was one of _those _days.

One of those days where there's absolutely nothing to do, where you watch the stupidest things on TV for less than no reason. One of those days where you watch a snake crawl along a branch on Discovery Channel for ten minutes, and you tell yourself it's just because you want to see the little snake swallow an entire bullfrog, but then the frog gets away, and the snake curls back up on its branch, and you're _still_ watching, even after the snake has fallen asleep.

Yeah. One of _those _days.

I was hanging out at my place with John. The day was so devoid of things to do that we'd resorted to pillaging the crawlspace, and had found a huge stack of _Cosmogirl_s and _Tigerbeat_s and shit like that. So—ironically, of course—we sat down with some AJ and went through them, discussing fall fashions and lipstick brands and all that shit, in the very most ironic way possible.

There was a thing, though. A small thing, but a thing nonetheless, and that thing was irritating the ever-loving fuck out of me. The thing was tiny. Miniscule. Stupid, even. But there it was, still irritating me, still being a thing that was a thing.

It's just... John. We were talking about oxblood, for example. I was against the idea of him wearing it, obviously. I mean, it's a combination of red and brown, for crying out loud. Neither of those colors are ones my buddy John should ever wear. They just don't suit him. Of course _he _didn't understand. He kept yapping about matching accessories or something.

But the thing was, he was doing it all in _earnest. _like he was _serious_.

Now, John is my bro. I love the guy to death, but he simply cannot seem to completely grasp the concept of irony, or at least anywhere my level of it.

But that's just it. He was so sorely lacking in sarcasm, it was as though it had somehow _inverted_, becoming something more ironic than I had ever managed to be. He was almost close to my Bro's level, almost, and that made me nervous. Mad, a little.

"Stick to blues and greens," I told him, flicking an article on skin tone at him. "Red isn't your color."

He gave me a look that set my teeth. Like he _knew_.

But there's no way he could have. It's like my Bro always says: only a Strider can crack the Strider code. Sometimes not even then.

He shrugged and got up, headed for the kitchen side of the room for something or other. I didn't care. I heartily and ironically examined an ad telling me how to win a date with Justin Beiber just to prove it.

Then my Bro showed up.

He just showed, just like that. But Bro's cool like that. Just showing up whenever, wherever.

He headed for the kitchen, too. Straight for where John was standing, his back to the room, completely unaware. Idiot.

And then... Bro grabbed his butt. Just like that. I could see John tense in surprise, and when he spun around, expression surprised and curious, like a little kid's, my heart sank a little. John was no match for my Bro's superior irony. He would be like a mouse in the claws of a lion. Whatever game Bro was planning, John had no hope of winning.

Suddenly, I felt Lil' Cal's eyes on me. Not from in the room, but somewhere nearby. I thought I could see him in the hallway, but my hunches on his whereabouts are almost always wrong.

But I could feel his gaze. Like he was gauging my reaction, waiting to see how I would respond to my Bro.

I reminded myself that it was just a game. Just a really ironic game.

I went back to my _Tigerbeat_, but... my eyes were drawn to my bros. I couldn't look away... I didn't dare.

I saw everything. I saw my Bro's hand land on John's hip, holding him there, against the counter's edge, and his head tilt as he spoke, too softly for me to hear. I saw John's response in his body, his hands going to the counter's edge to push against, his height increase just the tiniest bit as he rose to his toes. His shoulders went down and his face tilted up and his lips moved. I didn't try to read them.

Poor John. He didn't know it was just ironic, my brother making moves on him. But to me, it was clear as day. The irony was perfectly laid out, just waiting for me or John or one of Bro's cameras or maybe even Lil' Cal to pick up on.

And then they kissed.

Now I _really_ couldn't look away. Looking away would be like giving them privacy. That would be like turning it from irony to... sincerity. Honesty. It would make it _real._

I couldn't do that to my Bro. This could only be irony, obviously. My brother would never _actually _seduce my best friend. It wasn't even plausible. It wasn't a thing that would ever be a thing. So I kept watching, even when John's hands came off the countertop to fist in my brother's shirt, and my Bro's hand, the one previously on John's hip, snuck inside his clothes. I watched as their kiss became more and more intense, watched as Bro found a spot somewhere within John's shirt that made them both shiver, watched as they finally broke apart, John's face bright pink, his lungs drinking in the oxygen they'd been deprived from for at least three minutes.

Bro patted John's cheek ad left, and John, after a minute, came back to me and sat down, stared alternatingly at me and his abandoned _Cosmogirl_ for a while.

"Dave—" he started, but he was going to ruin it. He was going to take the irony away and leave something raw and aching.

"You're bleeding," I told him, indicating a cut on his lip that certainly hadn't been there before.

He blinked and prodded the wound, then poked out his tongue to swipe at the blood. He managed a choked thanks, but I only shrugged and buried myself in my magazine again.

Justin Beiber. Ugh. That day was the first day I truly started to hate the guy. It would be too perfectly ironic of me to save the poster the magazine came with. Maybe Bro would even be impressed at the level of irony one could reach with a stunt like that.

John sighed and looked away. Ran a hand through his hair. His cheeks were pink. Lips flushed. Face guilty. Glasses just the tiniest bit askew.

He disgusted me.

And he was glancing in the direction Bro had gone.

I shivered. John shivered.

Lil' Cal's eyes were still on me.

Suddenly I knew what this game was all about. Bro kissing John like that was a test, like poking something with a stick to see if it's still alive. There was only one move I could make, only one possible option.

And I had to make it now. _Now. _If I waited too long, it would be the beginning of a new game, not a continuation of this one.

John's face was less pink. He was studying an ad for Victoria's Secret. He was wide open.

Lil' Cal was close. Like he knew I'd figured it out. Like he was waiting for my move.

I stood up. I leaned across the table. I grabbed John's collar. I pulled him closer.

I kissed him.

He just stood there, half out of his seat, taking it. Obviously he was confused, but I expected him to at least _react._

He just stood there, and when I'd had enough, I pushed him back into his seat and returned to my own.

He stared at me, bewildered, but I knew I'd won this round. I'd met Bro's challenge without losing my cool. Ironic or not, I'd won.

"Dave," John said. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

I just shrugged. The cool way, the way Bro had taught me. I could still taste blood from his cut lip.

I'd won. I knew it, Lil' Cal knew it—his icy stare was gone—and somewhere, wherever he'd disappeared off to, Bro knew it.

Your move, big brother.

Bring it on.


End file.
